Sunset of Death
by ZeoViolet
Summary: A ninjitsu trained girl whose Ex Foot Teacher father is murdered by them for his betrayal, and right in front of her eyes. Troubled by thoughts of revenge, she doesn't know where to turn.
1. Sunset of Death

_Legal Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT, Peter Laird and his pals and associates and whatnot do. I only own any non-canon character I see fit to grace this fic with, including my main character, Violet, a young female ninja whose Ex-Foot father was murdered by them._

_It's strange that sometimes something so painful is the kick in the behind one needs sometimes to get going on something they doubted they were able to do. I won't elaborate but...well that's what started this story._

_While generally the backgrounds for these guys is the same as the toon (not the comics!) there are some differences: Old Shredhead is still in charge of the Foot, and they still live in their old Lair I enjoyed so much, for starters. Any others I'll note in due time if I see fit to twist it around to suit my needs. Enjoy. Rated PG-13 for language, violence, and eventually, sexuality and innuendo._

_And as a last note...the tattered cloth angle in this story was intact in my mind (and elsewhere) before I ever saw the episode concerning Casey Jones's dad some months ago. When I saw that episode I figured they'd read my mind. Stuff happens._

Sunset of Death

By ZeoViolet

"Violet!"

A man's voice rang through the large house.

Only silence was his answer. He yanked open the door of the dojo room and called again.

"_Violet_!"

He startled the young girl out of her trance, all too easily for what he'd been trying to teach her-but she'd never been as good at meditiation as she'd been weilding her weapons anyways.

The small blonde girl blinked, getting her bearings. "Yes, Father?" she answered, using the more formal attitude she reserved for this room only. This room was where he was mentor and teacher, less just her loving parent. She acknowledged that fact obediently. Their lives depended on what she learned in these sessions, no matter where they were held.

"I was planning on making eggs benedict for dinner," he informed her as she rose to her barely-five-foot height. "Problem is-no eggs in the house. Can you run to the convenience store while I get the rest of the supper on the table?"

She nodded eagerly. Eggs benedict sounded wonderful, even to her normally-vegetarian tastes.

"I'll be back soon!" she raced upstairs to grab a white sweater from her closet and raced back downstairs at top speed.

Her father was waiting at the foot of the stairs, money in hand for the purchase.

Violet paused to stare at him, getting the uneasy feeling something wasn't right here. He was staring at her intensely, as if very worried about something. It was written all over his deep green eyes.

"Here," he said quickly, putting the money in her hand. "Go, hurry to the nearest store-and go fast."

"Father?" she stared at him. This wasn't him at all. He was so pale!

"Time is wasting," he urged her towards the door in a manner so opposite his normal self it set off alarm bells along her whole body. "Quickly now. There's no more time to talk, my daughter."

"Daddy, tell me what's wrong!" she pleaded. Icy chills were along her spine. She shouldn't leave him, all her instincts told her. She musn't!

He yanked her back and, to her surprise, hugged her hard against his firm body. "I love you," he said quietly, in words that were to haunt her ever after. "Always remember that. Now, go!" He got a stern look at the protest rising in her eyes, as well as fear. "Do not question me, just go!"

Too used to obeying that tone of voice, for her obedience to it might save her life one day, she obeyed, turning and hurrying out the door, out of the yard, as quickly as she dared to move without appearing too hasty.

* * *

The sun was setting upon her return, the pale yellow rays slowly deepening into beautiful red tones.

Violet scarcely noticed; so intent was she on getting back to her father as soon as she possibly could. Why had he acted like he didn't want her there?

As she got closer to home her sense of dread grew. Her instincts had rarely been wrong.

She came into the yard so swiftly and silently that at first the dark shadow lurking in the yard didn't notice her. Two other shadows climbed the stone walls encircling the yard and were already gone, and she barely saw them.

She was just in time to see the dark figure, tussling with her father in the yard, finally overpower him and, in one swift motion, use the already-bloody dagger he was holding to slice the weapon across the other man's throat-not very widely, but enough.

Her father, already wet with his own blood, fell silently to the ground as new waves of red sprayed once, quickly, splattering him and his attacker both.

The eggs Violet was holding didn't fall so silently as her father had. Sick horror had paralyzed her body and she could not move; only stare at the dark figure whose face was completely obscured. No sound could escape her throat, no breath could she take as she felt her heart inside her liquify with a new, unknown poison.

The eggs splattered the ground much the way her father's blood was now soaking the dying grasses of late autumn.

The attacker jumped, turning to regard her once-then, to her further horrified senses, spat on the ground at her before going and running after his companions without so much of a backwards glance.

A cold, cruel void was left in his wake.

"_Father_!" The half-screamed, half keening wail echoed over the walls and into the streets as Violet's body finally unlocked. She abandoned everything else to race to her father's prone, limp body, her senses dissolving into one narrow band of intense horror and pain.

He was still alive, but barely. The light in his eyes was dimming fast when she reached him, and moved to cradle his dark head in her arms, ignoring the blood spilling from his wounds to soak her, too. "Daddy..." she rasped almost soundlessly, knowing her own soul was dying at the same rate his was. He was all she had!

His dark green eyes bored soundlessly now into her matching ones, regret in them. He knew! she realized with a new wave of nausea. He knew he was leaving her!

"I have to go!" she whispered to him. "I've got to get you help-go after those who did this to you..."

He managed to shake his head just slightly, sending a new wave of blood coursing down his body and onto hers. _I'm dying_, said his eyes, heavy with regret. _It's no use._

Her only answer to that was a soundless, tearless sob. She felt her insides twisting, forming something powerful, something awful-something so painful she could not understand it.

His arm twitched, and she suddenly noticed he was clutching something in his red-soaked hand, sinister in it's blackness. He made a faint sound--he wanted her to take it.

With great reulctance she moved to do so. The tattered black cloth fell open to reveal a horrifying redness of a different sort-the very symbol that had made up so many of the last years, terrifying their lives with the promise of their deaths if they were ever found.

Blazing back out of that evil red burned the symbol of the Foot Clan.

A fierce surge of anger darkened the poison forming in Violet's heart further, escalating to an intense hatred that, if he had known, her father would have been ashamed at her for feeling.

"Then I'll go after them!" she hissed darkly. "I'll go after them for doing this to you!" To the dying man, he'd never before seen such a look cross her face or haunt her eyes.

His eyes widened, and in their dying light she sensed a new urgency. But to her frustration Violet did not understand what he meant to tell her.

"I'll get them!" she repeated, then her face crumbled, but still tearless. "I'll find out what you can't tell me, I swear it! Daddy..." her voice trailed off as the intensity of her pain cut into her words. "I'm so sorry...I coudn't protect you. I failed you..."

He shook his head again, then gave a deep sigh-it sounded more like a gurgle. The glimmer of life in his eyes faded away to almost nothing.

His free bloody hand reached up once more, pressing against her chest over where her heart lay pounding listlessly with a hollowness that now sustained only her body.

"Don't leave me..." she pleaded faintly now. "I want to go with you, and I will...I won't let you leave me alone..."

Distress was lingering in the depths of his eyes, and he pressed his hand against her heart harder. I forbid it! she knew it meant. Your promise that you won't follow me!

"No!" she choked on sobs that still held no tears, no release from her private hell. "I won't promise!"

A steely resolve entered his eyes, and he pressed against her chest once more, with one last surge of forceful strength that astonished her.

It held the force of a command that never in her eighteen years had she dared to disobey-and he had trained her well to always keep a promise that she made.

"All right!" she choked through lungs that held no air left in them. "I promise, damnit!"

With those words she sealed herself to an existence that she felt would never show a moment's joy for her again.

A faint relief echoed in his green gaze as he reached up enough to stroke her cheek-leaving several red marks-before moving to press against her heart one last time.

That, and the message in his eyes, left no doubt as to what he meant to say.

_I love you._

"I love you too," she whispered, her eyes at last filling with tears--but they never fell. Her soul was gone so she had no right to them now, even if she had known how.

A last glimmer--acknowleging her words--and his arm dropped. Where it had touched her white sweater, his palmprint now blazed red with his life's fluids.

The last deeply crimson rays of the sun disappeared over the garden wall, coloring the sky brightly with a deadly evil hue--and as the darkness took it's place, so too on the wings of the sunlight did the last glimmer of life in her father's eyes flee.

Violet only held him now, crooning softly in a rhythm that offered no escape from grief, as a final gurgle rattled in his chest, and her disbelieving mind took several seconds to accept the fact--_he was gone.

* * *

_

"That's weird--what'dya make of that?" came a slightly harsh brooklynese accent, squinting from the shadows as, far away across a number of buildings, three dark figures seemed to flee from something. "Them foot on the loose again, but--"

A gentler voice, but one that held the unmistakeable ringing tones of authority, answered him. "That is not unusual nowadays, Raph," came his answer as he too watched the silently fleeing figures.

"Yeah well they been up to some mischief or they wouldn't be runnin' so hell-bent insteada movin' their usual patterns-an' usually their groups are larger than three."

"Yeah, they're running," said the one in blue, named Leonardo. "Means they weren't out scouting around for _us_. And if they weren't doing that then they were up to something _worse_. I think we should check it out."

"I'm up for some shell-kickin' if you are," Raph uttered, true to his nature. He had removed his sais from his belt and twirled them around absently.

Beside them, a third turtle held up a small, flat device to his eyes, a pair of electronical binoculars. "Did it occur to either of you that the direction they are fleeing from is the same general direction of April's?" he asked gravely.

"Yeah," Leonardo answered his brother in purple, Donatello. "Let's go."

"I hope she's all right," piped up a fourth brother, who wore an orange bandanna. "'Cause I'm hungry-what?" he winced as Rapahel's hand smacked the back of his head.

"Will ya quit thinkin' about yer stomach? Yer drivin' me crazy."

"Short trip," Mikey retorted, rubbing his sore head.

"_Cool it_," Leonardo said sharply before his hot-tempered brother could launch himself at their baby brother. "We've got a job to do."

The four brothers, all of them green turtles who stood upright and had learned ninjitsu, turned their toes in the direction of the home of their close friend, April O'Neil.

* * *

"No, everything's okay here," said the pretty, surprised redhead at the four turtles who crowded her doorstep. "No Foot ninjas lurking around my place tonight."

She stepped back so they could file inside before they were seen. "Why? Did you see any flitting around here that I didn't?"

"Not exactly," answered Leonardo as they all settled into sofas or chairs about her living room. "We did, however, notice a small group fleeing from _something _and it was from the general direction of your place."

April smiled at them. That was so sweet that they'd worry about her so. She loved these guys to death-like little brothers, mind you, but love nonetheless.

She just shook her head. "Like I said, it's a quiet night here." Her bright green eyes sparkled as she remembered something. "Oh, yes. Hey, Donny, I finally got that transmitter you wanted."

Donatello's eyes lit up brightly. "Really?" he asked eagerly. "Can I get it?"

April gave him a sweet smile at his enthusiasm for their shared hobby. "I'll get it for you. I'll be right-"

She paused as wailing sirens picked up in the distance, and swiftly grew louder. In a city like New York such sirens weren't unusual, but considering the timing of the turtles' visit, it made her pause.

She went to the window and glanced outside as the sirens reached a deafening peak and police cars, an ambulance, and a fire engine all raced madly past her building and off into the distance.

"Could that be heading towards the source of your concerns?" she asked unnecessarily, knowing they were all thinking the same thing.

"Probably so," Leonardo agreed. "However, if the police are around, we can't be."

"I could look it up for you later," April offered.

Leonardo gave her a grin, knowing she was skilled at such things. "I'd appreciate that. It's best to keep up on what the Foot are up to. Just call Donny if you need any help."

"Give him the transmitter he wanted an' he'll be over here in five seconds flat," Raph added wickedly. "That's gratitude for yeh."

Donatello turned bright red. "I'd do it anyway. April never needs to hold something over my head just to get my help!" he said, clearly irritated.

"Oh, Raph, behave," April scolded him lightly. "Or I'll make Casey return the part he got you that would jump the motor on your shellcycle to new speeds."

"Oh, _all right_," Raph groused. April always knew just where to hit with her remarks. It was not a lie that he really wanted that part she mentioned. "Yer askin' a lot, but I'll be good."

She grinned smartly at him. "That's my boy."

* * *

For the next two weeks, Violet was to think later, where she went and what she did were hazy memories at best. She wanted to remember nothing at all. _Nothing_... 


	2. Return of Clarity

_Disclaimer: Peter Laird and so on and so forth, not me, owns the concept of TMNT. I humbly beg you not to sue. My pockets are usually empty._

_It's a wonder what comes from my brain with extra time...and finally a working computer handy...to put it down with. I've been trying to make up for three years without a working typing device!...and when physical illness strikes..._

Sunset of Death ch 2

By ZeoViolet

_Two weeks after the murder_

A young girl, paler than death and scrawnier than was really healthy stepped off the subway somewhere in it's deep New York underground. The air was dismal to her nostrils and more than anything she didn't want to be here...but she couldn't help herself.

Through wrestling violently with an inner dark horror that had sized her mind these last two weeks, she'd held onto her very sanity with one thought only, and that was to someday locate her father's killers...locate them and face them.

There was a time she thought she'd never be able to take a life if it wasn't in self-defense-a cowardly, dishonorable act, murder.

Now...she wasn't so sure. She was disturbed beyond belief by it, but...it had raided her heart like a poison. The rest was a cold, empty void where she felt little else. Her father would have been so ashamed...

_Her father._

She pushed past the crowds, and up the stairs into bright sunlight that meant nothing but something to see by. The air was stale to her and the trees were stark skeletons rapidly losing their bright autumn color.

She held out her arm, waving a taxi by autopilot. Violet flatly told the foreign taxidriver where exactly she wanted to be dropped off and lapsed into a stony silence the whole ride there. She only nodded absently here and there when the driver tried to talk her ears off.

When the taxipulled up with a screech in front of her father's large house, she pushed money at the driver while scarcely looking at the dollar amount. She pushed out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk, past the gates and into the yard.

Oh, gods...there were still dark stains on the dead grass...

For one second she was overwhelmed by a feeling of horror that paralyzed her limbs as the past two weeks faded into nothingness, and it was suddenly in her mind that night once again.

The dark figures, her father's throat sliced, the scrap of cloth that never left her pocket, the painful, silent goodbye--all of it flared through her mind in one red-black flash. _She'd never forget_.

Her legs unlocked and she ran to the front door, almost banging into it in her haste. As she fumbled for the keys she thought desperately.

_How?_ How could it have gone so wrong? They'd just returned to this awful state, and she hadn't known why he'd brought them back to begin with.

The past. She knew so little about the past!

She finally got the key into the slot and unlocked the door, pushing herself inside and banging it behind her, leaning against the door heavily. Her raspy breathing disturbed the silence.

Inside the air was even staler. She'd abandoned the house right after she'd seen to her father's burial. Just grabbed some clothes, a few sanitary supplies, and money, and...

The rest of the time was only in bits and pieces, not clear at all. Motels. Walking. Subway rides. Fighting off a few lechers and would-be muggers, something that was all-too easy to do...

All she could say for certain was her heart had been crying out, empty. And there was no answer.

She closed her eyes and opened them again before shoving herself up from the door and going into the kitchen. Although she still had money-_where_ had her father gotten all the cash she'd discovered in one of his accounts?-she knew she'd eaten no more than a meal or two every couple days at most.

It must've been two days since she'd last eaten something, but she never seemed to remember to until she started growing faint. Hunger just wasn't registering.

A lot of the food had spoiled and she knew she was going to be hard at work later cleaning out her fridge. She managed to find some canned vegetables, eating enough to make her certain she would not pass out later, but she tasted nothing.

After a shower and changing into a black t-shirt and black leggings, she went back into the living room and flopped onto the sofa, thinking hard.

First thing was first--get her father's affairs in order. She could not have bills piling up and her utilities shutting off.

She'd found his will and he'd left it all to her-but his affairs were a mess from having dragged her from pillar to post since the age of five, running-_fleeing_-from that very symbol that burned from the scrap she held in her pocket, evidence she'd not let slip to the police about.

All they knew was three dark figures had murdered her dad. His blood and some of theirs had been everywhere. But otherwise, no fingerprints, no clues. She had just wanted them to go away and had refused to say a word to the press. As this was just one more murder on the streets of New York, information had barely even scratched the papers or the local news.

She didn't want it to. She had to do this on her own.

When, where didn't matter at the moment. But she'd find out somehow why her beloved father's past had to suddenly strike...

"Still nothing on that one, Donny," April flopped forward on her desk, staring at her computer screen, rattling off her notes. "Too little information and all the same thing. Vague police reports. A man was murdered, three men wearing dark clothing--and you saw them. They were Foot soldiers. The daughter saw it happen but won't talk to the press."

She raised her eyes hopelessly to the turtle in purple. "For all intents and purposes it reads as a random killing. Overall the papers scarcely bothered with it. And since then when you've observed the Foot, they've acted the way they usually do."

"The Foot are very methodic and precise, not as random as the Purple Dragons might have been," said Donatello with a frown. "A random killing, and only three of them? That is what makes this stand out. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't sound..._typical_."

April understood what he was thinking. If their greatest enemy wasn't behaving typically, it was reasonable to expect worse. It couldn't be anything else. The thought that there might be goings-on in the Foot the Shredder wasn't aware of was ridiculous.

He was too smart, powerful...and too demonically evil for that. Karai was too fanatically loyal and Hun headed the Purple Dragons and kept them generally seperate. No. It was plausible to wonder if the Shredder had something new up his sleeve.

"Are you still porin' over those files again?" said an exasperated voice from behind them. "So Shredhead had an off day with some of his minions. It's bound ta happen."

April didn't even turn around to address Raph directly. The turtle in red had come in from where he'd been working on his shellcycle with Casey Jones.

"Raph, you know how the Shredder deals with those that slip up in his service. And these guys very obviously achieved their goal of murder. No. The Shredder knew of this. He just acted...differently."

"Well, I don't see how yer goin' ta find anything more starin' at the screen. What next-interview the witness?" Absently Raphael leaned against the wall, fingering his sais.

"Right, Raph. I'd get some real answers with a nice social visit." Donatello turned back to the computer screen, using the mouse to scroll down further.

"Not ta mention she'd scream and run," smirked Raph.

"_Go play with your toy, Raph_." Donatello sounded distinctly annoyed now.

"I would if Casey hadn't swiped it for a joy ride." Raphael's voice distinctly switched to grumbling tones.

April looked amused. "You actually let Casey touch your bike without you right there? Raph, I'm surprised at you."

"Yeah, well he hung the fact he got me that part I wanted over my head," groused Raphael reluctantly. He pounded one green fist into his other palm. "He gets one scratch on my bike though, I'll be tossin' his clubs and baseball bats into the nearest river-_after_ a few get broken over his skull!"

Violet figured her back was permanently broken after she finally straightened the mishmash of papers piled in front of her.

It had taken her forever, but she finally had enough of her father's affairs in order to realize one of the greatest secrets he'd ever kept from her.

_Where the holy hell had all this money come from?_

She couldn't believe it! Her father had been far wealthier than he'd ever let on to her about! Being dragged all across the country, he'd usually worked as a substitute teacher while home-schooling her and training her in ninjitsu.

Certainly nothing to generate anywhere near this much money!

Frantically Violet tried to calm her pounding heart as the answer to her whirling questions settled slowly and unwillingly into her brain.

Damnit! There could be only one answer, wasn't there!

Blood money! _Filthy, tainted blood money from her father's years with the Foot Clan!_

Violet felt distinctly fouled. Her father's past with that notorious group was a shame to them both. He hadn't been willing, he'd been forced, but she knew that her father had once served the one called Oroku Saki as one of the teachers that trained his soldiers in the style of the Foot.

As a boy and young man her father had spent many years in Japan, and had learned to love the culture as much as his American culture until he'd become a curious mix of the two. Violet didn't know how, but he'd learned this very rare fighting style, it's pure form.

After finally returning to the states, she also didn't know how, but this Saki had found out and forced her father into his service against his will.

There was too much her father had never told her.

How he'd met her mother was a story in itself. She'd known of the risks when she married her father but hadn't cared. The risk had only increased when they'd taken the very dangerous step of having a child. Not many of Saki's minions dared risk having families for their boss to exploit.

Violet didn't even remember her. A car accident had taken her when she was less than two years old.

A horrifying thought came to her then-_had it really been an accident_?

There was nothing to suggest it was otherwise, but her father was almost never able to talk about it so Violet just didn't know for sure. She didn't know _what_ was real anymore, to be honest.

She pushed the stack of papers aside to finish fully later. She had to get ahold of herself. Those two weeks, well, she wondered if she'd outright fought losing her mind.

The clarity had returned but it had not lessened the pain.

She went into the practice room of the house, the well-equipped dojo that had seldom been used over the years on the rare times they'd ever returned to this place.

From the wall she pulled off a pair of weapons her father had specialized her in, deciding she was suited to them best.

Twin sais flashed as she began one of numerous katas, draining away some of her intense emotions in the onslaught, and at the moment having little heed for her personal safety.

It was two evenings later.

Violet kept to the shadows, holding a bag of groceries and wracking her brain for any mention her father might have made to possible Foot Clan subordinates that either had purple dragon tattoos or purple dragons on their jackets.

She'd just missed being seen by a large group of gangsters all bearing such a purple dragon on their clothing or person. She'd also heard them on the news of late; and it seemed that for some of them, they used moves that resembled a crude form of the Foot style, although most were armed to the teeth.

Right now, they looked like a nasty bunch, and Violet's mind automatically thought out alternate routes and reminded herself to not go out again after dark unless absolutely necessary.

All her instincts told her to beware of them; she was certain they had something to do with the Foot clan but this was _not_ the way to go about getting information she might ever seek on them.

She had no wish to invite attempted rape and/or murder to her person on top of everything else. Their whole attitude screamed they enjoyed such diversions even if they regularly robbed, cheated, and killed for profit.

Yes, they had to be street thugs who answered to a higher authority.

Finally, just barely, Violet recalled her father warning her to never trust anyone on the streets of New York who seemed to be fond of dragons. This had been years ago and she didn't recall what else he might have said.

She closed her eyes, and determined to get herself as quietly past them as possible, and after this, stick to daylight no matter how much she might need something.

"They're movin' off," said Raphael in a low voice to Donatello. "Prowlin' elsewhere. I saw a small kid dip into the shadows the moment she-at least I _think_ it was a she-saw them. Smart one. Now let's get to April's already?"

"Purple Dragons are always worth watching to make sure they don't cause trouble," answered Donatello, holding his electronic 'binoculars' to his eyes. "We'll leave in a few minutes. A few are still hanging around in that alley down there. April will understand I'll help her with her upgrade when I can."

Raphael absently twirled a sai with one hand as he waited impatiently.

"And stop twirling your sai like a toy," said Don, still intent on watching below. "It's distracting."

"Hey, I ain't in the habit of pesterin' the daylights outta ya like Mikey does, so count yer lucky stars," Raph groused. But he quit playing with his sai.

A few minutes later Donatello spied the small female figure in black from earlier step silently out of the shadows and move on swift, silent feet down the street--and in an obvious hurry.

"There she goes," he said absently. "And she's lucky; I think most of them have moved off so she'll be..."

His words died.

Out of the alley stepped two large figures, two holdovers from the gang who'd remained behind. They stepped directly in front of the girl's path.

Raphael had noticed too, and he clutched the edge of the building and groaned silently to himself. _Won't be gettin' to April's anytime soon, looks like..._

_Oh, shit..._

Violet didn't swear all that often but this seemed to call for it. That gang had seemed to leave but these two must have decided to stick around or..._something_.

They were both huge, bulky guys, with sinister grins and one was smacking his palm with a crowbar absently. The other smelled as if baths weren't too familiar to him.

"Well, well, what have we here?" leered one, giving her a good glance-over. "Pretty birds should stick to their cages at night, sweetie."

The message behind his roving eyes made Violet feel sick to her stomach. "Get out of my way!" she snapped, in no mood to put two hulking idiots in their place right now. She had far too much on her mind.

"And this little bird squawks," said the evil-smelling one. "But we'll have her singing a far sweeter tune soon, won't we, Ed?"

"Tiny and blonde-suits my tastes," he grinned nastily. "Glad we decided to hang around a few minutes more-won't have to share, Hal."

Violet suppressed a groan. Big and hulking, but IQ's of about ten...

"That's a plus," Hal practically purred. Violet nearly retched; his evil stenched seemed to become worse by the second. "C'mere, pretty bird. Keep your beak shut and come with us, nice and easy."

"Like hell I will," she snarled in revulsion as he made a move to grab her.

Instinct kicked in at once. Violet ducked past him and drove her elbow square into the middle of his back, landing him flat on his face.

Ed, seeing what was happening, moved on instinct to attack her with his crowbar, but for all her tiny size she blocked the move and with one swift kick sent it flying.

"We need to help her," said Donny, his hands already at his bo as he started to walk off.

"Hold on, Don," said Raph, still avidly watching. "Somethin' tells me we don't need ta get involved in this."

Donatello paused and went back to the building's edge, looking down once more, as he saw the tiny slip of a girl mercilessly pummel the two huge men into unconsciousness.

Raph grinned out of the corner of his eye and reached over and physically pushed his brother's jaw back from where it had hung open.

"There's somethin' fer ya," he snickered. "Not what she looks like, is she?"

Don shook his head, getting over his astonishment. "No..."

Raphael grew serious once more. "An' there's somethin' else, didja see it?"

Donatello, for all his observation skills, had to shake his head at this one.

"Her martial arts, bro. She was usin' _Foot moves_."

"Wait a second," said Donny disbelievingly, even though a replay in his mind of what he'd seen confirmed his brother's words. "Since when does the Shredder let little girls into his elite club? And why would those goons attack someone in the Foot?"

"Are yeh forgettin' Karai?" snapped Raph. "If yer skilled gender don't mean nuthin'. As to why they tried ta attack her--mistaken identity. It seems pretty tidy ta me."

"I don't think so..." said Donny thoughtfully as the girl calmly picked up her bag of slightly crushed groceries and walked along the street as if nothing had happened. "She looks familiar..."

Suddenly it came to him. All those police reports he'd investigated of that strange Foot murder? There'd been precious few photographs but one had included this very girl's face!

"She's the girl who's father was killed by those three Foot ninjas!" Don gasped.

Raph had seen enough of those reports-with Donny poring over them endlessly? Who _wouldn't_-to realize his brother was right.

"And they did not recognize her then?" he groused. "This is gettin' kinda weird, Donny. She's mixed in their affairs somehow. But we can't just go an' talk ta her at the moment. If she's Foot, she's not worth our breath. Let's go."

Violet silently but rapidly walked the rest of the way home, making herself calm her pounding heart as she did so. This time she'd been lucky; there'd been only two of them, and they were stupid gits at that. She reinforced her decision to not go outside at night again unless necessary...and try and figure out a way of carrying her sais around on her person in public without getting arrested.

Those idiots hadn't recognized her, but if they reported to their boss higher up, and someone _did_, then she could be in for some trouble otherwise.


	3. Memories

_Disclaimer: Peter Laird and Co. own TMNT, I do not. Please don't sue broke old me..._

_Chapter 3 of Sunset of Death. Rated PG-13 for the usual reasons, including bad words in more than one language. Yes, I guess I got the setting for this one because it is currently storming outside as I write the opening scenes...And as for what Leo had endured when that anger burned through him so fiercely such a short time before, well, I have little doubt as there was more to his fury than he'd ever told anybody...even the AO._

_And as a reminder...remember in this timeline Saki's still around. This story works around a handful of differences..._

Sunset of Death

By ZeoViolet

_Later that night_

The whole house was plunged into darkness.

Violet, who was just finishing the hottest shower she could stand-the presence of those men had left her feeling distinctly fouled-gave a surprised yelp and slipped while in the shower stall.

She cursed softly in Japanese as she grabbed hold of the rail inside the shower stall just in time. This was _not_ how she wanted to break her neck...

Or to end such a bad day for that matter.

Making herself steady her breathing, she got her bearings and stepped carefully from the stall, onto the carpeted bathroom floor. She was not intimately familiar with this bathroom, seldom as she'd lived in this house over the years, and it took a bit of groping before her fingers hit her bathrobe.

She did not bother to search for a towel, but put the robe on over her damp body and soppy-wet, behind-length curls.

She padded out of the bathroom and, lightly touching the walls, felt her way down the halls and into the main living room, where she pulled aside a heavy curtain and peered out at the darkness.

The whole street was dark. But rain was pounding violently on the windowpane.

_Must've started while I was in the shower_, Violet thought vaguely. _Kuso!_

There weren't an abundance of candles in the house and in the last move, her father had lost his flashlight.

Her eyes were getting used to the dimness, and with her training it was fairly easy to move about in darkness if one had their bearings. Still, she needed light, so she made her way into the nearby kitchen, where she figured her father would've kept a few candles.

_Even though the only place I can remember him saying so for sure was the basement_, she thought, exasperated.

Violet suppressed a shudder. She hated that basement and never went down there. There were too many..._reminders_ there, her father had said. Even opening that basement door felt all wrong, as if it was the gateway to some great evil.

She forced the thought from her mind. In an end drawer she found a single candle. It was a start.

There were matches in there as well and she quickly lit one and soon had the candle blazing.

It helped; however the candle was not very large and would not last long. A quick search of the kitchen yeilded no further ones, and after being attacked tonight Violet was not about to go outside again. Despite her shower she still felt somehow sickened, knowing what those two men had wanted to use her body for.

It left the basement.

Violet stared at the door at the other end of the kitchen and sighed. She'd have to venture down there. There seemed to be no other way around this tonight.

_I am_ so _not looking forward to this_, she thought, irritated, as she went to her bedroom and placed the candle on her dresser and opened the top drawers, mindful of fire risks.

She threw some black clothing on her damp body and roughly ran a brush through her long, drippy blonde ringlets before loosely binding them with a black scrunchie. It didn't matter to Violet how she looked. Growing up as she had, she'd never given vanity much of a thought.

It had only been rarely that her father even remembered she was female. Once in a while, he _had_ simply wanted her to be his daughter. He'd forbidden her to cut her hair on one of those occassions even though she'd argued her hair was in the way, and was why he had wanted her to pierce her ears.

Violet didn't even want to remember those happier thoughts right now. It hurt too much. It made the poison around her heart burn worse.

Her lips tightened as she picked up the candle, already getting low, and headed back into the kitchen...and towards the basement door.

* * *

Leonardo listened impassively as Raphael finished telling him over the shell-cell what had occurred.

"So...whaddya think?" Raph asked. "It was the damndest thing I ever saw. She one of Saki's little darlings maybe?"

"It is possible..." Leonardo said slowly. "If the Shredder trained Karai, there might be a couple other females among his underlings if they have talent enough."

"Well, she sure as _hell_ had talent," snapped his brother. "Whoever trained her was damned good, an' it was too obvious she was usin' Foot moves. Those were just a couplea very _stupid _Purple Dragon grunts not ta have known whom they were dealin' with."

"Think it was Saki himself?" asked Leo. "We have no absolute _proof_ she's a member of the Foot, Raph."

"I dunno about that. We didn't see a huge load of moves, bro. Just enough ta realize she was usin' Foot moves an' that she had talent with 'em. It didn't take a lot ta beat down those two peabrains that attacked her."

"Still, seeing as how her father was _murdered_ by them..." mused Leo. "She has something to do with them. It cannot be anything else, but there's no proof she's a threat to us. We'll just have to keep an eye out if anything strange happens. And not bother with her unless she proves to be such a threat. If she_ is _from the Foot, she's not worth our breath otherwise. She's _without honor_."

There was just the slightest tightening of his voice, one which vaguely startled Raph as he said goodbye and hung up his shell-cell. He hadn't heard that tone since Leo had gone to see the Ancient One.

The turtle in red stood very silently in the hallway of April's home, thinking hard and reflexively gripping his sais.

There was no way in hell he'd ever let Karai emotionally destroy his brother ever again, at least not before they killed him, Raphael, first.

His thoughts drifted back to her betrayal that day, several months ago, aboard the alien ship in a swirl of red that mirrored his thoughts and emotions.

Leo and Karai's swordfight. Karai crying out that they were leaving, it did not have to be this way...her being flung over the railing and Leo, never without honor, catching her. He had pulled her up...and she'd reached over him and grabbed one of the swords right off his back.

"You are _much_ too kind," she'd sneered as Leo had been thrown backwards...then abruptly kicked back forward when the Utrom-Shredder, in his hideous new suit, had kicked him square in the back of the shell. Karai, whether intentional or not-Raph had been in too much pain to be sure-had been holding the sword _just right_...

"Leo! _Noooo_!"

Raphael felt his insides clench with remembered horror and anger.

Later Leo had healed physically, with just his shell scarred, but that last act of betrayal had destroyed more within Leonardo than anybody but Raph, alone, was aware of.

Sure, everyone was more than too aware of the fury that had obliterated Leonardo's calm spirit and sent so much poison coursing through his body nobody could reach him. Leonardo's intense, deep love for his family was so affected by this poison it had twisted itself into something terrible, savage. He drove himself, and his brothers, harder and harder in their training, striving to attain a perfection that _did not _exist in order to protect each other and keep their family safe.

All that time he'd alternated between terrible bursts of fury, deep abiding anger at himself, and an intense, tearless sadness that read too clearly, _I'm not good enough! I wasn't good enough! They all nearly died because I could do nothing!_

Although Raph had often grumbled about how Leo was acting, deep down as each day passed his fear for his brother had grown. He didn't want his brother to display a temper that rivaled his own famous one. Not when that temper was driven by something like..._this_. He had secretly feared Leo's heart had been permanently destroyed. Their Fearless Leader had just become reckless.

In the end, when even Usagi and Master Splinter could not crack that poisonous ice that had enveloped Leonardo, when the strain Leo was forcing himself under was taking it's toll on his body and the weight loss became noticeable-only then had Master Splinter used his last resort and sent Leonardo to the Ancient One.

And for the most part, the Ancient One had done what none of the rest of them could do. He had forced Leonardo to face himself, his own greatest enemy, and leached the the poisonous fury from his heart before it was too late.

It was enough for Leonardo lift the burden from himself and begin to heal, something that would not happen overnight--and was still happening. But the real Leo was back.

However, and this made Raph grit his teeth in suppressed fury, he and he alone was aware of something that not Usagi, Master Splinter, or even the Ancient One himself had ever uncovered.

Raph and Leo were often at odds and at each other's throats, but deep down they were closer to each other than with anybody else in the family.

Leo had never told him his deepest, darkest secret, it had been something Raph had sensed. However, it was only because they were so close that he picked up on this deep forbidden secret that had buried itself beneath all of Leonardo's fury.

And it had to do with Karai, the bitch!

Leonardo hated Karai with a passion now. She'd betrayed, on every count, everything he had hoped she could be.

And that had included, in the most hidden recesses of Leonardo's heart, feelings he should never have felt for her. _Ever_.

Nobody else had the slightest idea this had happened to Leo. But it had been the deepest reason, and the strongest glue, that had held the poison around his heart in place and why nobody had been able to reach him.

When, after returning from the Ancient One Leonardo, not bothering with the Shredder at all, had gone to face Karai and had told Raph about it later, it was _how _he'd told it, and something so subtle about the passionate pain in Leo's voice over Karai's betrayals of _honor_ that had first given Raphael the shocking idea it was more than that...and a feeling deep down that it was all too true.

And for once, Raph, usually so head-on about facing such issues, had _kept his fat mouth shut_. Not for anything in the world would he increase Leonardo's pain. Not even in his worst fits of temper.

Now Raph gripped his sais tightly and twirled them around once before sticking them back in his belt. He had no intention of letting that two-faced, green-eyed bitch daughter of Saki's near Leo ever again if he could help it.

And if this other girl, this other Foot girl-if she _was_ Foot-

Raph snorted to himself. Of course she had to be!

If she was made of the same substance...she was not only without any honor at all, she was worth less than dirt. It'd probably be just like her to twist some unsuspecting guy's heart around to suit her needs, too.

If she was Foot, and he faced her in battle one day, he'd have no problem killing her. The world didn't need another Karai clone.

* * *

The candlelight flickered in the darkness, creating large shadows in every corner of the dusty basement Violet found herself in.

Surely her father had kept any extra candles in some easily-accessible corner...

She made her way deep into the depths of the basement and placed the candle on a table, squinting in the dimness, looking for any box marked 'emergency'.

Finally she found it, buried under a stack of albums. She picked everything up, albums included, and deposited them on the dust-covered table. She pushed the albums aside and opened the box, finding an old first-aid kit and, to her relief, some emergency candles, batteries, and another flashlight.

However, these batteries were outdated and probably useless, it had been so many years. She drew out a fresh candle and used the final sputterings from the old candle to light it.

This candle burned brighter, and for a moment Violet paused, looking around her, really looking, for the first time in...well, since she could remember, and truly taking in this creepy basement.

What sort of...secrets could possibly be hidden down here? What reminders? She had a vague notion that perhaps some of her father's old Foot gear was probably down here instead of being burned as they should have been, but she didn't know that for certain.

She absently picked up the top dusty photo album and opened it. Photos, of course, stared back at her.

Grandparents she'd never seen, her father as a boy, more photos from him and his years in Japan, back in the states, early photos of her mother, pictures from their marriage, and Violet as a very young child.

Then the photos started changing as Violet turned the pages.

Her father, pictured with faces she didn't recognize. Perhaps the students he'd been forced to teach?

One huge bhemoth guy in particular made her shiver--blond, with a ponytail, and a _purple dragon tattoo about his upper arm!_

There was a mercilessness about his features, one that made Violet shiver in disgust. Her father looked most reluctant at being made to pose with most of these people. He had hated _so much _being forced to serve such evil.

There were a couple other photos, one of a handsome man in particular, asian in appearance, staring at the camera with what looked like a sincere smile--but there was a sinister coldness in his eyes that made her stomach twist. _Merciless. Cruel_. _Dominating._

But who the hell was he?

She'd seen that face before somewhere...

Her memories of the days before her father faked their death and fled were numerous, but spotty. She remembered events but the faces of people were always in shadow, except for her father's face...and one memory that still haunted her nightmares.

_It had been this face!_

_Flash_

Violet's memories took her back in time. She'd already started learning how to use sais and she was not even five yet. This man had entered the dojo and smiled at her, patting her head in a friendly way. Even then something behind his eyes, and two enormous steel claws worn on one hand, had made her want to recoil from him, but deeper instinct had made her give a fake smile instead.

Her father had entered the dojo room, and the man had gone over to him. They had spoken for quite awhile and Violet, who went on practicing, did not recall their conversation. But her father had looked deathly afraid.

The man had abruptly turned and walked back over to the young child, Violet.

"Stand before me," he'd commanded gently. But she was terrified and scrambled to obey.

He had reached down and scooped her up, holding her in the arm without those deadly claws.

"Remember you always belong to the Foot Clan!" he had said to her father. "And so does she. You both always will!"

He'd lifted her shirt, exposing her ribcage, and those claws had raised and glittered fiercely...

And she'd felt the warm trickle of her own blood.

_Flash_

Violet still remembered the stinging, paralyzing pain of those claws marking her. She'd been so stunned she hadn't reacted at all. She'd not screamed, not cried, she had just stared at this man blankly while her white practice uniform had slowly started to stain red.

Now Violet reflexively lifted her own shirt and traced the twin scars. The man had at least taken care to not really injure her, for they were only two inches long and faint at that, but the scars had remained like a brand.

To this day, never again did Violet ever feel it when she was cut or scratched. That was the last time she'd felt any pain when her skin was sliced open. Now, it was simply vague discomfort later, or the feel of herself bleeding that told her she'd hurt herself.

Two days after this had occured, her terrified father had faked their death and fled, unwilling to expose his only child to the horrors around them any longer.

The one clear face she remembered from that terrible past, and it was this one.

A wave of nausea swept over Violet, and she slammed the album shut, cursing her father soundly for not having burned these awful things. She grabbed the candles and fled back upstairs with them, vowing to never again look through such annals of horror, such terrible reminders of the past!


End file.
